


I wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible.

by notastranger



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slash, some jerky ableist attitude from an OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notastranger/pseuds/notastranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton comes up with what he thinks is a hilarious Halloween costume. Things do not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible.

Newt knew what he had to do the second he laid eyes on the outdated sweater vest displayed in the thrift store window.

He had gone looking for used manga, maybe replace the coffee mug that Hermann had knocked over (“It was an accident, Dr. Geiszler, if you didn’t place breakable items on the very edge of your desk, such things wouldn’t happen”), but when he exited the secondhand shop, a whole new (well, new to him) outfit was folded neatly in his bag instead.

His idea was kind of juvenile, but Newt never put on airs of maturity, unlike his lab partner – despite the stuffy headmaster look and the perpetual scowl, Hermann was just as much of a brat as he was. The guy had filed so many complaints against him in their first week together that someone from HR had to come down and give a seminar about what does and what does _not_ constitute a hostile work environment. And when Hermann wasn’t picking apart Newt’s taste in music or clothing, he was tearing apart his scientific theories.

They’d get into horrible rows, loud enough to send some of the other scientists scurrying, but Hermann was just too fucking _smug_ for Newt to let his arguments go unanswered, and yeah, okay, the man was freaking _brilliant_ and sometimes he made a good point or two, but did he have to be such a jerk about it?

So occasionally bits of kaiju viscera ended up by Hermann’s chalkboards, and more than once Hermann stormed into the lab demanding to know who the hell ate his baby carrots _again_ , the bag was clearly marked with _his_ name on it, and Newt lived for moments like that, when Hermann’s professional exterior cracked and he caught a glimpse of the young hothead within.

Newt swung the plastic bag up to his chest and gave it a hug as he walked back to the Shatterdome. This was going to be _awesome_.

~*~

Newton decided to wait until Halloween to unveil his Hermann cosplay (as he mentally referred to it). The PPDC didn’t officially celebrate holidays, but there were enough Americans on base who would get the joke and he didn’t want anyone to think he had suddenly lost his sense of style.

He strolled into the lab bright and early on October 31st. Hermann was already there scrawling equations on the blackboard, although Newt would not call him a morning person by any means. “Hey, Hermann,” he called out cheerfully.

“Good morning, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann replied with a heavy sigh, as if the very act of wishing Newt a good anything was a huge burden. “And I’ve asked you repeatedly to call me Dr. Gottlieb.”

He turned away from the blackboard and Newt struck a pose, showing off his vintage tweed suit and God-awful sweater vest. Aside from his glasses and haircut (which he was _not_ going to ruin just for the sake of authenticity), he and Hermann looked like they had been cut from the same pathetically old-fashioned cloth.

“Decided to dress professionally for a change?” Hermann quipped, taking in Newton’s outfit.

“What do you think?” Newt asked, tugging on his lapels and waiting for the other man to lose his cool.

Instead, the impossible happened. The corners of Hermann’s mouth turned up in a honest-to-goodness smile. “You look nice.”

Newt blinked. That sounded surprisingly sincere. “Thanks?”

“Really, Dr. Geiszler, it’s like you’ve never received a compliment before,” Hermann replied amicably, and Newton felt his heart sink because _crap_ , Hermann didn’t even know he was being mocked and was actually being nice for once, and if Newton said something now it would be kind of humiliating, but it’s not like he could just turn back around and change, right? That’d be too obvious.

It was too late, anyway, because one of their colleagues, an older woman who specialized in environmental toxins, had just stepped into the lab.  “Oh, look at you two,” she giggled. “You’re twins!” She adjusted the witch hat perched on her head. “I was worried I’d be the only one dressed up.”

Newt looked at her before he could personally witness Hermann’s smile crumble into dust. “Hi, Estelle,” he smiled weakly. “Nice hat.”

“Dressed up?” Hermann asked icily.

Newton kept his gaze on the other side of the lab. He really, _really_ , did not want to look at Hermann. “Uh… yeah? Today is Halloween.”

“And this is supposed to be funny? To dress up as me?”

Newt cringed at the distinct note of hurt in Hermann’s voice, but when he looked up, the other man’s expression was stony.

“You know what they say,” Newton stammered.  “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Hermann grabbed his cane from where it was leaning against the blackboard with more force than necessary and stalked over to his desk.

“C’mon, man, it was a joke,” Newton called after him, but Hermann turned his back to him and ignored him.

Ignored him all morning, in fact. They typically would have argued at least twice by now, and Newton was even working on his DNA sequencing program that loudly dinged every time there was a compiling error. Three dings and Hermann almost always came running over, bitching about Newt’s coding skills and typing in his own modifications.

Ten dings and _nothing_. Not even one of those “rub the bridge of his nose and exhale loudly” sighs that Hermann was so fond of giving him.

Well, screw it. Newt was tired of feeling guilty. It was a joke! Everyone else in the lab seemed to get it, even the ones who didn’t celebrate Halloween. He put in his earphones and blasted some Passion Pit while he tried to get his coding under control.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until Michael, a lab tech only a year younger than him, leaned into his peripheral vision. “Hey, Newt. You want to grab lunch?”

Newton popped out an earbud and looked around. Everyone else had already left. “Oh, yeah, guess I do.”

“Nice costume, by the way. How come you didn’t get a cane, too?”

“Because I’m not a dick,” Newt responded, giving Michael the side-eye as he turned off his music. “I wanted to poke fun at his grandpa wardrobe, not his limp.”

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. “You’ve got kaiju tattoos, don’t tell me you’re into that politically correct bullshit.”

“It’s not about being politically correct, and by the way, did we suddenly time travel back to 1994? Because who still says that?” Newton had gone out after work a couple times with Michael and he seemed like a decent guy. Finding out he’d misread two people in the span of just a few hours was making him a little cranky.

Michael frowned, confused or perhaps put on the defensive by Newton’s tone. “I don’t get it, man. You two are always going at it. I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t _hate_ him, and even if I did, you don’t make fun of something like that. That’s not cool.” He could tell Michael didn’t get it, and maybe it didn’t help that he was currently rocking a sweater vest, but either way he wasn’t really in the mood to explain. “I think I’m going to work on my code a little more, you go on without me.”

Michael left without much fuss and Newton pecked distractedly at his keyboard. Maybe he should stop trying to deflate Dr. Gottlieb’s ego of all that hot air and just learn to ignore—

“You’ve misplaced an end bracket,” Hermann murmured out of _nowhere_. He had somehow snuck up directly behind Newton and was peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

Newt did _not_ jump out of his seat, but who could blame him if he had? That was some ninja-level sneakiness right there. He swiveled in his chair, forcing Hermann to back up. “Jeez! Can you do me a favor and wear a bell around your neck so I know you’re coming next time?”

Hermann raised an eyebrow. “It is not my fault you were so engrossed in your bad code that you did not hear me return.”

 _I thought you weren’t speaking to me_ is what Newt wanted to say. Instead, he watched Hermann walk over to his own desk. “I thought you went to lunch.”

“I did, but I forgot my book.” He picked up a well-read tome on mathematical modeling and tucked it under his arm. “You should go soon as well, if you are hungry. I will not instruct anyone to pick up lunch for you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Newton muttered. _So_ done feeling guilty. Ugh.

On his way back to the door, Hermann stopped once more at Newton’s desk and tapped the rolled-up bottoms of the second-hand slacks with his cane. “For the sake of accuracy, you should have these trousers hemmed.” His lips pressed into a lopsided smirk. “I know it must be dreadfully difficult for you to find pants the appropriate length, but I have never had that problem.”

Oh, _snap_. Newton struggled to come up with a witty retort – or any sort of retort, really, but Hermann did not give him a chance, merely raised a finger as if he was adding a point to his side of the scoreboard, then putting their game on pause and leaving the lab with his smug little nose in the air.

Newton leaned back in his seat and laughed in equal parts relief and frustration.

~*~

He did hem the pants in time for the following Halloween, but he hemmed them too _short_ because that’s how Hermann wore them, like he grabbed the first pair of pants that fit around his waist and didn’t bother to look down.

Hermann didn’t compliment him this time, but he didn’t seem offended, either. He simply voiced his hope that Newton had cleaned the suit before deciding to wear it again and continued with his work as if he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

At least until Newton spent the entire morning speaking in a fake British accent, peppering his arguments with “Rubbish!” and “Poppycock!” Hermann finally lost his composure, tossing an eraser at Newt’s desk hard enough to knock over a cup full of pens and swearing loudly in German.

Score one for Dr. Geiszler!

After that, dressing up like Hermann became a Halloween tradition. It didn’t matter where they were stationed or who else might get the joke: if it was October 31st, Newt was wearing that stupid sweater vest and suit.

And the best part was that he didn’t need to modify his costume again because Hermann _never_ changed his style. Not that Newt expected or even wanted him to – Hermann was the one constant in his life, both in a general “giant alien monsters throwing our world into chaos” sense and on a more personal level, as their colleagues moved to other Shatterdomes or simply moved on.

The only major addition to Hermann’s wardrobe came in the form of an over-sized parka that he started wearing after the first cold-snap in Tokyo.

“Oh my God, where did you get that coat?” Newt asked, already envisioning next year’s Halloween costume.

“It was a gift from Ranger Kaidanovsky,” Hermann replied primly, and Newton tried not to look as disappointed as he felt, because that pretty much meant the parka was off-limits.

(Although he did wake up at his desk more than once with that parka draped over his shoulders and Hermann nowhere to be seen. He was always careful in returning it to its proper place.)

~*~

By the time he arrived in Hong Kong, Newton had stopped wearing the costume. There was nobody else around to get the joke, and he and Hermann had stopped getting along. Because somehow they _had_ been getting along, Newton just didn’t realize it at the time. They never stopped fighting over the years, but they had argued in spirals instead of circles, pushing each other to work smarter, faster. Better.

Now the war clock hung over their heads like a ticking time bomb and all they could do was squabble over the same tired topics.

When Newton first brought up the idea of drifting with a kaiju brain, Hermann _blew up_ , insisting it wouldn’t work and refusing to listen to any of his evidence. When Newt started planning out the logistics, Hermann stopped talking to him completely, as if the very concept was a personal affront.

And then Hermann brain-blocked him in front of Marshall Pentecost and that was _so_ not cool, and yeah, his recorded message to Hermann was kind of mean, but it’s not like he _really_ thought there was any serious chance of him dying or he wouldn’t be doing this at all.

So he pushed the button, and as the hive mind of the kaiju tore his brain apart with unmitigated predatory **want** , he wished briefly that he would die, because it was terrifying, and he was so alone--

He came to with the vague sense that time had passed and a pair of familiar arms cradling him. Reaching up blindly, he grasped at them and held on tight.

Never had the texture of tweed felt so comforting underneath his fingers.

~*~

They did it. They closed the Breach! Newton was finally a rockstar, no doubt about it. He just wished his body would get the memo, but after about only an hour of celebration, he was ready to collapse.

As if reading his mind (or maybe Hermann actually did read his mind, or was Hermann just tired, or was _he_ tired because Hermann was tired? Fuck, this was confusing), Hermann tugged gently on his arm and steered him to the K-Science lab where they both not so much sat as collapsed onto the well-worn couch tucked in the corner.

“Unnggh,” Newt said eloquently, pushing up his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. He looked down at his ruined outfit in dismay. “Man, what kind of injustice is this that my clothes are shredded and your grandpa suit is intact?”

“How can you even tell?” Hermann retorted, accepting the barb with good humor for once.

Newt turned towards him and smiled because they saved the world together, and so what if Hermann had no fashion sense and didn’t know how to do a bro-handshake, he had seen inside that big, beautiful brain of his and drifting with him was the most awesome thing he had ever done.

Hermann smiled back, and it maybe it was exhaustion, or the alcohol that had magically appeared after the War Clock stopped, but Newt was suddenly flooded with warmth, the kind that made his cheeks flush and his mouth go slack.

“Your hair,” Hermann slurred quietly, staring at Newton with a peculiar intensity. “How does it do that?”

“Do what?”

“That,” Hermann repeated, reaching up and gently tugging on the tufts of Newton’s hair that defiantly remained standing despite the day’s events.

Then he ran his fingers through Newton’s hair, and Newt shut his eyes, because _damn_ that felt good. Hermann mumbled something and Newt bit back a soft sound of pleasure before replying, “I dunno what you just said, man. I don’t speak drunk mathematician.”

His eyes opened just as Hermann leaned in and slotted their lips together in an awkward kiss and suddenly _so many things_ made perfect sense, including but not limited to a potential underlying cause to all that bickering.

Newton grasped at tweed for the second time that day and kissed back.

~*~

By the time Halloween rolled around again, Newton had completely forgotten about his traditional costume. It was Hermann who reminded him the night before. “Are you going to dress as me tomorrow?” he inquired, standing by the couch where Newton was sprawled out, watching a monster movie on his laptop.

“Hmm? Oh, I guess. My students would probably get a kick out of it.”

Hermann nodded. “Would you like to wear my parka?”

“Your—seriously?” Newton slammed his computer shut and practically launched himself off the couch. “Oh, man, that would be awesome.”

Hermann sighed, but couldn’t hide his smile, the one he favored Newton with more and more. “It’s still warm enough that I won’t need to—Newton, what are you doing?”

Newt had already retrieved the parka from the hall closet and slipped it on. He had wanted to wear this ridiculous coat for _so long_ , he absolutely could not wait until Halloween, even if it was just the next day.

The parka was, as he predicted, _enormous_ for his small frame. He flipped the fur-lined hood over his head and covered half his face. “Dude, check me out! I look like a hobbit.” He heard Hermann stifling his laughter with the back of his hand. “This is going to be the best Halloween. I’m gonna be more you than you tomorrow.”

Was it his imagination, or was Hermann laughing even more?

~*~

Newt and Hermann usually took the subway to work together, but Hermann whispered something about an early conference call in Newton’s ear and was gone by the time he finally got out of bed.

He dropped by Hermann’s office once he arrived on campus, the sleeves of the parka making a pleasant swishing sound as he walked. “Hey, Hermann, I—“

Whatever he was going to say fell out of his head and disappeared into the ether. Hermann was – wait, _was_ that Hermann – yes, it was, but he wasn’t dressed like Hermann. Not in that modern-style white button-down shirt and skinny black tie, appropriately retro black leather jacket, those skinny black corduroys and holy crap, Hermann’s legs looked so _good_ in those—

“Hello, Newton,” Hermann replied mildly, as if he wasn’t completely blowing Newton’s mind just standing there in those pants. He absently adjusted the black-framed glasses that looked just like—

Oh, no _way_!

“You’re dressed as me!”

“Indeed I am.” Hermann smiled, smug and devilish and ooh it was _so not fair_ that he looked better in skinny cords than Newton did! “What do you think? Is it ‘rockstar’ enough for you?” he asked, rolling his R’s so effortlessly that Newt felt weak in the knees.

Newton swung an arm behind him, making sure the door was shut and locked, then wrestled out of the parka. “You,” he said, folding the coat over the back of an empty chair. The blazer was not as fortunate, getting tossed hurriedly on the floor as he approached Hermann and wrapped his arms around his deliciously slender frame. “You are very mean for dressing like this and not warning me and I hope you didn’t have any plans for the next hour.”

“Ambitious, aren’t we?” Hermann remarked before Newt shut him up by planting a kiss on that stupid little smirk of his.

“Tell you what,” Newt panted into the space between their lips. “Any leftover time we can spend shopping online for more pants.”

Hermann kissed him back, hard, and he knew they had a deal.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from that Macklemore song "Thrift Shop." I am very, very sorry.


End file.
